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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006708">God of Requited Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoesome/pseuds/hoesome'>hoesome</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(You Guessed It) Kinda, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:08:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoesome/pseuds/hoesome</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Today is no different. The three of them plop down on the soft grass behind the cabin, an endless horizon stretching out before them. The sun hangs high, and though it’s nowhere near scorching this time of year, they play it safe under the shade of a formidable oak tree. Issei uncorks the alcohol as Hajime distributes the cups, rounding out their circle with one between him and Takahiro.</p><p>He catches the look his friends share and snorts. They’re not sneaky. And, “He’s not dead.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hanamaki Takahiro &amp; Iwaizumi Hajime &amp; Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>God of Requited Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>disclaimer: highly recommend consuming this as an AU of an ancient greece AU where our fav japanese vb boys exist as their original selves (among other historical inaccuracies due to cherry picking and, even though i promise i tried with broad yet possibly shallow research, ignorance :'))</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the war, Hajime spends his days at home quietly, with his head buried in papyrus. Flowery words, twists of the tongue — all that used to be exclusively Tooru’s domain. Now, necessity aside, he finds that he’s starting to enjoy the tedium, the way the words blend in with the stillness of his cabin to dissolve the linearity of time. </p><p>Today again, he reads the retellings of Dionysus. He remembers how Tooru would keep the lamp in their shared childhood bedroom burning through the night, engrossed in words Hajime considered more myth than reality. It annoyed him at first, and Tooru was equally put off by his annoyance, pouting when Hajime would point out his eyebags the next morning. “Iwa-chan doesn't understand because he has biceps for brains,” he'd mutter petulantly. Hajime would snuff out the threat of a smile by biting his cheeks before he flexing his actual biceps. Eventually, he grew accustomed to sleeping with the light on, even coming to miss it when it's no longer an issue. </p><p>He knows now there’s reality rooted in the myths, that he owes everyone involved an apology. As a token of his intent, Hajime does his best to express equal interest in the texts of each of his thirteen gods but it’s difficult when, out of them all, Dionysus is the only one who gives him any semblance of hope.</p><p>Abundant sunlight spills through the slits of his shuttered windows, a fine accompaniment to the lazy breeze. Outside, spring returns steadily to the earth. If Hajime closes his eyes, he could almost picture Persephone among the fields, shy buds peeking out at her feet. Freshened up after a mild winter, the gnarly olives and oaks fight to shield her. In the distance, waves roll in, then crash against an island of eroded rocks. A more vivid picture surfaces with the sound: a bed of wet sand that barely depressed under their weights, a flash of teeth as Tooru’s smile stretched wide, stumbling upon this place that had somehow been tucked away for all these years in their own backyard.</p><p>Because nothing escaped Tooru’s keen eyes, he noticed the abandoned shack first. Perched on the edge of a minor cliff, overlooking the beach with a sort of weariness Hajime has recently caught staring back at him in mirrors and pools of water, it struck the both of them as the perfect spot for a secret escape. So when Tooru asked if they could patch it up, Hajime readily agreed. They spent the entirety of their fifteenth summer renovating it into what it is today. </p><p>Hajime has stayed here for nearly a year. </p><p>A series of efficient knocking prompts him to his feet. Hajime stashes Dionysus away and makes his way to the door, expecting the triumphant faces that greet him when he pulls it open. </p><p>“Hey,” Issei and Takahiro say almost simultaneously. </p><p>Hajime pulls them into a hug. </p><p>They grew up together, though Hajime only met them a few years after Tooru. Immediately after they were of age, they established this tradition to drink to the end of each campaign. Hajime is thankful they have decided to include him in these celebrations even with his extended leave. </p><p>“Congratulations,” he says, pulling away with a hearty pat on both their backs. <em>Welcome back</em>, he doesn’t say. <em>Thanks for coming back</em>, he doesn’t say, trusting that they know. He walks over to the corner that functions as a rudimentary kitchen and selects a sealed jar, its contents sloshing about as he picks it up. He ignores the tenderness in his arm, these days more of a phantom pain than anything worthy of his concern. “Is this the year you finally make general, Issei?”</p><p>Issie groans. “It better fucking be.” Beside him, Takahiro laughs and slings an arm around his shoulder as Hajime ushers the both of them back out, bottle of wine in hand. “Rumor has it they’re gonna pass you up for, ugh, what’s his name, the boy who used to live down the street?”</p><p>“Kunimi,” Hajime supplies helpfully.</p><p>Takahiro snaps his fingers. “Kunimi!” he says appreciatively, then turns to Issei with a lazy grin. “S’okay, Mattsun, you can stay my brigadier forever.” </p><p>The day Hajime returned from the victory parade alone and found himself magically transported to Takahiro’s living room with Issei already lying in wait, he took a lot of comfort in the overly-childish nicknames that continue to plague them well into adulthood, in the way Issei’s groan carried a familiar pettiness, in all these little ways Tooru has immortalized himself in their lives.</p><p>Today is no different. The three of them plop down on the soft grass behind the cabin, an endless horizon stretching out before them. The sun hangs high, and though it’s nowhere near scorching this time of year, they play it safe under the shade of a formidable oak tree. Issei uncorks the alcohol as Hajime distributes the cups, rounding out their circle with one between him and Takahiro.</p><p>He catches the look his friends share and snorts. They’re not sneaky. And, “He’s not dead.” </p><p>Takahiro eyes the cup warily as Issei shrugs and reaches over to pour some wine into it. “I guess.”</p><p>“Do you want to deal with him throwing a fit when he finds out we’ve been drinking without him?” Hajime asks.</p><p>That draws a truncated chuckle out of Issei. “He would.” </p><p>“See?” Hajime says, feeling vindicated. </p><p>With a shake of his head and a fond sigh, Takahiro raises his own cup high up in the air. “Fine,” he declares. “To Oikawa, for finding a way to be obnoxious and clingy even in his absence.”</p><p>Hajime laughs and, together with Issei, clinks his cup on Takahiro’s. “To Oikawa,” they echo. </p><p>“What about you?” Issei asks after gulping down his drink. “Are you coming back this year?” </p><p>“Probably not,” Hajime answers truthfully. </p><p>Takahiro nods sagely like he knows anything about anything. “Take your time, man,” he says, as if Hajime hasn’t been branded lazy or worse doing just that. A surge of warmth floods him. Before him are the only two reasons he’d survived the past year. Brothers in arms, brothers in life.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>When Hajime was seven, his father returned home one night with a boy he’s never met. He was slightly taller than Hajime yet more immature: a mop of wavy brown hair hanging onto the servant who had delivered him, clearly lacking the machismo that’s been drilled into Hajime and his friends. No one questioned his sudden appearance so Hajime didn’t think to either, nonchalantly accepting when he started tagging along with Hajime to school, to private lessons, to make-believe adventures. </p><p>“What’s your name?” Hajime asked in the privacy of his room, now the strange boy’s too, as they drifted closer to sleep. </p><p>Wide brown eyes stared at him from across the expanse of his bed. Tomorrow a carpenter would come and build him his own. </p><p>“Oikawa,” came the timid response. “What’s yours?”</p><p>“Iwaizumi Hajime,” he said with pride, as his father has taught him. “You can call me Hajime.” </p><p>The boy tested it out. “Ha-ji-me."</p><p>Hajime watched as Oikawa curled further into himself, the bangs curtaining over his face blocking Hajime’s view of him. Just as well, Hajime thought, he was also starting to tire. He flipped onto his side, back to Oikawa, and closed his eyes. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he told him, because Oikawa’s cowering hasn’t sat right with him. He remembered the hidden spring he’d recently discovered and the exciting formation of rocks far enough from the city that no adult would bother them there but not so far that his mother wouldn’t permit him to frequent the site — Hajime’s most precious treasures he couldn’t wait to share with his new, live-in friend. “I’ll take you somewhere nice tomorrow. You’ll see.” </p><p>That was the first of many promises Hajime would make him. Of them all, only one has been left unrealized, and though Hajime has devoted the last few years of his life to realizing it, as usual Tooru has gone and left him in the dust. </p><p>The night of Tooru’s successful election as one of ten generals, they had, together with Takahiro and Issei, made it their mission to drink themselves silly. It was a festive affair, these annual, post-election feasts: women and men gathered around long tables illuminated by wooden torches to converse on the year past and the one to come. Hajime ignored the consequences that Tooru's civil appointment might hold, burying the conversation from a lifetime ago in the depths of his mind as the four of them slid into a secluded corner away from the center of the party. The modesty of the meal didn’t bother Hajime, not when each dish tasted like the best iteration of itself. He broke apart a piece of bread and slathered on the bit of cheese he had picked off Tooru’s plate.</p><p>“Hey!” Tooru yelled. Before he could say anything else, Takahiro interjected with a drawl, “<em>General</em> Oikawa, wanna bet your title on who can hold their liquor better?” </p><p>Hajime's slight quickly forgotten, Tooru scoffed and tipped his head back wordlessly, emptying the cup in his hand within seconds. He slammed it down on the table. “I'm so sorry that you’re still stuck as a lowly brigadier, Makki, but please don’t try and turn my night into a pissing contest,” he said sweetly, switching Takahiro’s still full glass with his own.</p><p>Issei snorted into cupped palms, elbowing Takahiro in the process. Even Hajime was sporting a look of amusement, feeling too high-spirited to call Tooru out on his shitty personality. He’s always more lax when the target of Tooru’s ire was one of them anyway.</p><p>“Hajime and I can beat the both of you easy-peasy,” Issei said from across the table once he’s recovered. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he gave Hajime’s shin a light kick under the table. “Right, Iwa-chan?”</p><p>Hajime kicked him back before demonstrating the truth of his statement, draining the contents of his cup even quicker than Tooru had. “Sure,” he said in the same breezy tone as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. </p><p>Takahiro narrowed his eyes at him and Issei, turned to Tooru, then snapped back to face them. Tooru was twisted halfway in his seat too. “You’re on,” he proclaimed. </p><p>As their inebriation grew with the passing of time, Hajime was past minding, let alone noticing, that Tooru was sitting shoulder to shoulder to hip to leg with him, one hand wrapped around his waist when it happened. It was bound to happen — Hajime was usually more careful in the public eye, but today he had relaxed like Tooru was always asking him to on account of this night being Tooru’s win. Such a tiny slip-up, yet it could cost them everything. </p><p>“It always surprises me to see how intimately brothers in arms treat each other," came a silken voice Hajime recognized from past Assemblies. One of the more outspoken senators, then. "Congratulations on securing the votes, General." </p><p>Before he could think about standing his ground, Hajime jerked away instinctively as wide-eyed regret dunked over him, his skin burning where they had touched. Tooru straightened into his tallest, most dignified self, and flashed her a smile. “Thank you, Senator,” he replied. "And you're right to be surprised. Most people forget that Hajime and I have known each other for most of our lives. He's like a brother of my blood, at this point."</p><p>The woman laughed while Hajime tried not to wilt under her condescending scrutiny. “I think we can both agree that what I just witnessed isn't <em>philia</em>,” she said, teasing tone belying true malice. </p><p>“What would you call it then?” Tooru asked, equally lighthearted. Across the table, Issei seemed to have sobered up. Hajime noticed the way his shoulder bunched up slightly under his tunic, eyes alert as if waiting for Tooru’s signal to pounce. </p><p>She remained silent.</p><p>Tooru’s smile and bite were unyielding. “Say, Senator, would you consider a hero of war," he gestured at Hajime, "or a general like myself to be an <em>eromenos</em>?”</p><p>She hummed. “No,” she admitted after some consideration. “Though, of course, it’s a two way street.” </p><p>The threat was clear as day: Tooru was voted in as general because the city-state agreed he embodied their core principles, but he wouldn’t be one for long if he turned out to be lying. Hajime locked eyes with Takahiro and cocked his head as subtly as possible. </p><p>“Guys,” Takahiro interrupted immediately, and to this day Hajime still doesn't know how he managed to act so convincingly, “can we call it a night? I don’t feel so good.” Hajime followed him almost immediately out of his seat, but Issei appeared to be debating something, only obliging Takahiro after a glance at Tooru gave him nothing.</p><p>Tooru was the last to stand, holding the senator’s gaze with each purposeful movement: pivoting on the bench, bringing one leg out, then another, and finally standing up on both feet. Like this, he towered over her, and the difference in their physical prowess was made apparent. </p><p>“Of course, Takahiro,” he said, turning to leave. Hajime didn't shy away from the hand on his back urging him along. "Have a good night, Senator"</p><p>“You as well, General,” she replied graciously with a tilt of her head.</p><p>Despite that, when they stumbled back home it was Hajime’s bed they had both fallen into, curling into each other like they knew no other way. Their bedroom was just wide enough to fit two beds, but even that distance had seemed daunting to face alone. Hajime tried to ignore the looming dread, but he must’ve been doing a shitty job because soon Tooru’s fingers were in his hair, softly scratching at the back of his scalp. </p><p>“Stop thinking, Iwa-chan,” he said. “It’s not your strong suit.” </p><p>Hajime scoffed weakly. He burrowed out of Tooru’s grasp and leveled their faces, bringing a thumb to smoothen out the wrinkles gathering between his brows. “Sorry,” Hajime whispered. Under the sliver of moonlight strung along Tooru’s cheekbones, wrapped in the twining of their exhalations, they were suspended in a state of liminality: somewhere between here and there, today and tomorrow. </p><p>In this unreality, he could kiss Tooru, even into submission. So he did, though he wouldn’t describe the way Tooru was kissing back as submissive at all. Maybe it was like Tooru always told him — it didn’t matter if it was or wasn’t, if he was or wasn’t. Maybe they were both <em>eromenos</em>, maybe they were both <em>erastes</em>. Maybe these things could not matter.</p><p>Tomorrow, they would fall back into a platonic distance — Hajime by his side, always a step away where he was honored to stay. Tooru would march to his first Assembly as a commander and Hajime would stand by with pride. For now, Hajime allowed himself this dalliance, the wine an easy scapegoat if anyone caught them.</p><p>Tooru, for his part, didn’t seem to notice his dilemma. If he did, he didn’t seem to care. Hajime used to hate that about him. These days, he only pretended to. </p><p>“Don’t be sorry.” Tooru said, breaking apart. Hajime chased after him, pressing closer, and kissed him again. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”</p><p>Hajime shook his head. "I'm not sorry for whatever happened earlier," he elaborated. "I'm sorry that I still care, especially since—" he couldn't meet Tooru's eyes. "Well, you know. You made general."</p><p>"I won't let anything happen to us," Tooru amended, pulling him in.</p><p>Hajime breathed out slowly, then reciprocated with a pair of tentative arms around Tooru. "Yeah," he said into the warmth of his neck. Tooru smelled like flowers Hajime didn't know he liked. "Okay."</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>Around them the world is ablaze. Animated cries echo through the night. Darkness threatens to usurp their ranks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hajime spins. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Before him is a boy. He looks like summer, feels like the protective shade of a wild olive grove. He sounds like whispering under thin sheets on drunken nights, inhibitions chipping away to fingers on forbidden skin. Right now he is yelling, and slender fingers find their way back on Hajime’s face. Desperate eyes search him, then settle on determination. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He's saying something else. Hajime strains to hear him, asks him to repeat himself. Nails dig into him and fall away with finality. A singular tear tracks down a porcelain cheek.</em>
</p><p>Hajime’s eyes shot open, a dying breath on his lips. His hand darted out to the side and closed around a solid heap. Relief washed over him. “Hajime?” the heap croaked. He steadied his breathing and stowed away the indulgences of his heart — for the next time he has Tooru just for himself. </p><p>"Yeah?" he responded. "I'm here."</p><p>Through the overhead window, the sun peeked in.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The weather is pleasant when Hajime sets out: Zephyrus’ westward wind ripples through the trees, teasing the wildflowers into a little dance. Deciduous shrubs on the cusp of a full revival line the coastline along which he walks. He pauses at a headland to admire grand hues of gold and blue, a hefty satchel slung across his shoulder. He would miss waking up to this view in the coming weeks. </p><p>Having filled his time since his return a year ago pouring over every piece of relevant literature, Hajime has a better idea of what he needs to do — or at least, where to start. If their roles are reversed, he's sure Tooru would’ve gotten further in half the time. As quickly as he comes to that realization, he snaps his head in an arbitrary direction along the horizon and narrows his eyes. <em>Shut up</em>, he thinks. <em>I tried.</em></p><p>With a huff, Hajime turns his focus back to the task at hand. His current theory is that the answer may lie in the city up north, from which a certain goddess has hailed. Even if it doesn’t, it wouldn’t hurt to pray to a more sympathetic deity for a change, considering Athena’s stance on the whole thing. And if she isn't sympathetic to his cause, well, there's still the famed Oracle he could turn to as a last resort.</p><p>All that’s left is for him to journey north. Takahiro has graciously promised him a horse seeing as Hajime's unemployed and barely on speaking terms with his family after he had to explain what about Tooru’s absence required that he took his own indefinite leave as well. As far as Hajime’s concerned, Takahiro is also morally responsible for providing transportation as the successor to Tooru’s generalship after Hajime turned it down. On horseback the trip should take him about six days there and back. Factoring in another few days to finish up his business in the city, Hajime estimates that in less than two weeks he’d either have wasted a whole year or— well, maybe it’s best not to get his hopes up.</p><p>Hajime continues through the fields, past the ancient grove, until he reaches the crossroads where Takahiro said he'd meet him. For some reason, he spots Issei on his own mount next to Takahiro, the both of them staring him down with a confusing mixture of apathetic cocksureness. </p><p>“Here you go,” Issei says, passing Hajime the reins to a third horse once he is close enough.</p><p>Hajime accepts it gratefully. “Where are the two of you going?” he asks.</p><p>Issei turns to Takahiro. "Where did you say he's going again?"</p><p>The muscles on Hajime's face contort and settle eventually on a frown. "You're coming with me?" </p><p>"Well, duh," Takahiro answers with a scoff. "You're so out of shape, you won't make it a day in the wild without us."</p><p>"I'm a grown man," Hajime grumbles as he mounts his ride. "Don't you have better things to do than mother me?" He gestures at the city. "What about the people you're supposed to lead?"</p><p>"Don't worry," comes Takahiro's unsettling response. "Everything's been taken care of."</p><p>Hajime replaces his frown with a look of disappointment. “Which poor soul did you guys rope into this?”</p><p>Grinning with all the evil Hajime knows him to be capable of, Takahiro simply says, “Kindaichi.” When Hajime sees the same disposition reflected on Issei’s face, an unwitting, “Ugh,” escapes him. They’ve been spending too much time together without him to dampen their shittiness, is what. </p><p>“What?” Takahiro jeers, misconstruing Hajime’s response. “He's been eyeing my seat for ages. Least I can do is give him a taste.” He pauses then, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “It'll be all the sweeter when I steal it back from him."</p><p>Issei’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Hajime hears a different voice saying the words. </p><p>At once the three of them start:</p><p>“Ah, shit.”</p><p>“That was—”</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>The ensuing silence is palpable, but Hajime breaks it first with a snort that devolves into laughter. “Dumbass,” he gets out. </p><p>“Sorry,” Takahiro honest-to-god apologizes, laughing as well. “That was disgusting. I’m disgusted at myself.” </p><p>Hajime punches his arm. It’s light enough not to do any serious damage but it still earns him an eye roll. “So defensive,” he mumbles. “Oikawa's not even here.”</p><p>Solemnly, Issei and Hajime chant almost in sync, “He’s always watching.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>A worn scroll sits unfurled on Hajime’s lap as he shifts back into the wooden chair at the foot of his bed. After a day of uneventful traveling, the three of them have settled into an inn courtesy of their favorite general.</p><p>Takahiro and Issei seem to be playing some kind of game. Hajime tunes out the chatter without much effort, entranced as he is by the world of possibility within his hands. He remembers processing what the words are telling him for the first time; setting off a series of revelations that culminated in tonight, in making his way to a city on part research, part hunch. Dragging his friends into this mess wasn't part of the plan but as usual their insistent support left Hajime with no room for arguments.</p><p>This particular reading is relatively new to his collection, given to him by a wandering minstrel he put up in the cabin one night. Tongue loose from the delicious wine she had brought with her from a region Hajime’s never even heard of, he indulged in her prodding, recounting his biggest regret in more words than he'd ever used in one sitting.</p><p>The night of his best friend’s disappearance, the world was ablaze. There were things Hajime didn’t know then: the strength of his feelings, how regret would shape the course of his life.</p><p>“Why do you keep referring to him as your best friend?” she asked. </p><p>“Because he is,” Hajime answered with pride.</p><p>She smiled ruefully at his response. Saying nothing in return, she reached instead into the bag she had carried with her and fished out the scroll currently in Hajime’s possession. “I want you to have this,” she said. “It'll serve you more than it's currently serving me," she insisted at his refusal.</p><p>Hajime received it in careful hands, feeling strangely touched. </p><p>“And Hajime,” she continued, the gleaming warmth of her eyes complementing the fiery orange of her hair, “whenever you’re ready, maybe once you get your best friend back, you should come pay us a visit in the North. People are more… ” She flashed him a sunny smile. “Well, you'll see. Anyway, I think you’ll both like it there.”</p><p>He turned the scroll around in his hands, feeling out the papyrus, a now comforting smoothness under his fingertips. He met her gaze. “Thanks, Natsu,” he replied. “I will.” </p><p>“—Me! Hajime!”</p><p>“You think half the time he pretends to read he's actually just daydreaming?”</p><p>Hajime blinks, focusing, and returns to the room he's sharing with Takahiro and Issei. As the allure of the past overshadows everything else, he's finding it harder and harder to stay tethered to the present. “What?” he asks.</p><p>“Nothing,” Takahiro says with a wave of his hand. “We’re just trying to guess what you’re reading.” </p><p>“Oh, this?” Hajime says, gently kneeing the scroll on his lap. He’s been friends with the both of them for long enough to know that they have a bet riding on his answer. Unfortunately for them, they’re both wrong. “It’s not Dionysus’ epic,” he says, looking at Issei. “And how many times do I have to tell you there's no dirt on Athena?” he fixes Takahiro a look. </p><p>“All the trouble I went through to bring you a horse, and for what,” Takahiro mumbles.</p><p>Hajime rolls his eyes and makes a shooing motion. “Go back to whatever you’re doing,” he says. “Let me read in peace.”</p><p>“In the room <em>I</em> paid for,” Takahiro continues even as he stalks away obediently. </p><p>Issei lingers, ever the watchful one. Where Takahiro is loud and decisive in his care, Issei is the opposite. Hajime allows his capable eyes — second only to Tooru’s, though now it seems silly to even compare them — to study him, smiling slightly under their careful attention. “What?” he asks again. </p><p>Issei smiles too and shakes his head, straightens himself. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to seeing you like this.”</p><p>Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Reading?”</p><p>“For fun.”</p><p>“Woah there,” Hajime says, surrendering both hands in the air. From the corner of his eyes, he catches Takahiro glancing at them. Hajime points at himself. "Does this look like the face of someone who's having fun?"</p><p>Issei laughs. “You look like Oikawa getting excited for class while the rest of us drowned under endless assignments."</p><p>“It's just—” Hajime runs a hand through his hair. "We're so close, y'know? I just want to make sure I don't have it all mixed up." His face sours. “I wish I'd paid more attention in school so I don’t have to relearn all this.”</p><p>That seems to be the right thing to say. Issei laughs, good-natured, and Hajime partakes in his mirth if only for a moment. “Doubt they taught us any of this to begin with,” Issei says.</p><p>“They didn’t,” comes Takahiro’s voice from the other side of the room.</p><p>“How would you know?” Hajime retorts. “You weren’t paying attention either.” </p><p>Takahiro closes his eyes and makes a show of sitting up straighter as if that will somehow put him in perfect resonance with the world. “Oikawa's spirit is speaking through me.”</p><p>As Hajime scoffs, Issei questions lightheartedly if they can still joke about him like that, all things considered. Takahiro flings a pillow in his direction as Hajime thinks over his question: the truth of it, the absurdity of it all, and revels in their joy for a moment longer.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>“What are you reading?” Tooru had also asked him once, when he dragged Hajime to pray for good fortune the day before they were set to march out. </p><p>It happened only a few years ago, yet Hajime’s recollection of the day is already beginning to fail him. The scenes that play out in his head carry a lackluster quality: the lines are blurred where they used to be sharp; the sounds are muffled when they used to ring clear.</p><p>Sometimes Hajime finds himself paralyzed by the fear that he’ll eventually forget this voice that he so wants to remember. Is he still, in these augmented memories making up most of his daydreams, faithfully depicting Tooru’s upward lilt? Imbuing his words with just the right balance of grandeur and airiness? Who does Hajime ask for confirmation when he’s supposed to be the subject expert? </p><p>“Wipe that ugly smirk off your face,” he responded without even looking up. Tooru hasn’t stopped teasing him about the reading ever since he discovered the reason behind Hajime's newfound pastime, and sure enough, when he flicked his gaze over to where Tooru was leaning against his doorframe, he was sporting the worst kind of shit-eating grin — the deserved kind. Hajime scowled. As if this wasn't Tooru's fault to begin with.</p><p>“I’m touched, Hajime,” Tooru said, strolling casually into his room. “If only you'd paid as much attention in school.” </p><p>Hajime’s pursed his lips. “They don’t teach you anything useful in school,” he mumbled, sounding unconvinced even to himself. </p><p>He thought back to the various classes they had to take on the gods: their shared histories, sacred rites, lovers and bastard children. And, really, Hajime’s never had reason to care. It was enough for him that he could pay his respects when necessary, but Tooru was different. He had lapped up each morsel of information with characteristic zeal, his hunger for more never fully satiated. </p><p>“What do you think you’ll be the god of?” Hajime remembered wondering out loud after a lesson on apotheosis where he had learned, and would probably forget within the day, that only a temple allowed deified mortals to materialize back in the human realm. There were various conditions that constituted a temple, and even though those Hajime has definitely forgotten, it was no matter because Oikawa would be there to remind him if he ever needed to build one. Right now, he was preoccupied with the take-home reading their teacher had assigned, probably something on Heracles or Psyche. </p><p>Thirteen years young without the burden of the world on his shoulders, Hajime had sighed. </p><p>“You can't just pick what you'll be the god of, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said haughtily, showing off his newfound knowledge </p><p>“Well, yeah,” Hajime said, struggling to recall what exactly they had gone over in class when it was Oikawa's eyes that held his attention. Maybe it was the light in his own, but Oikawa’s looked like a pair of luminescent orbs with how the sun was reflecting off of them, blurring the line between Apollo and boy. Hajime wished he could get a closer look. “But if you could?”</p><p>Oikawa turned up his nose. “You don't remember why, do you?”</p><p>Hajime scowled. “It’s, like, based on your highest achievement or something.” </p><p>“No,” Oikawa corrected, wiggling a stubby finger as he quoted a passage from class verbatim, “you become the god of your essence, which <em>can</em> be your highest achievement.” He grinned. “I’ll grow up to be the greatest general of all time, so I’d probably be the god of war.”</p><p>Now it was Hajime’s turn to laugh. “You can't be the god of war, dummy," he cried. "Ares is our god of war." He spun away as if in disgust at his friend’s ignorance, though the excitement of knowing something Oikawa didn't was written plainly on his face.</p><p>“I knew that,” Oikawa argued. "But I can still be a war deity."</p><p>Hajime was struck by a thought midway through his laughter. All the times Oikawa had outmatched him in training wasn't because he was physically stronger; he had won through his cunning and keen vision. "Maybe military strategy," Hajime had suggested. "Or some vision deity if that's even a thing." </p><p>Oikawa’s face had twisted from one of petulance to pride. “And Iwa-chan can be the god of brute strength!” he had exclaimed. </p><p>Suddenly next to him, Tooru whined with the same petulance, “C’mon, Hajime, we’re going to be late!” </p><p>“Fine,” he relented, clicking his tongue as Tooru pulled him up by the elbow, Eros on his desk giving him momentary respite but never, ever letting himself be forgotten. </p><p>“Hajime?” Tooru questioned, turning around to meet his iron stare. His lips teased into a coy smile. “Is there something on the back of my head?” He leaned in, peering up through thick lashes at Hajime’s wildly beating heart. “Or could it be that... you've missed me?” </p><p>Never.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>From the childhood home Hajime still inhabited, it was a brisk climb up gentle hills and marble stairs before the temple came into view. They’ve made this trek enough times that Hajime has committed the route to memory, though Tooru had still taken it upon himself to act as their guide. Waiting for his turn amongst the crowd of worshippers, Hajime eyed the fluted pillars holding up the temple and traced the intricate murals above the columns. They depicted various snapshots of life, most of which were women and men on galloping horses, a spear or sword in one hand. Various paintings of sacred objects lined the walls as well: an impenetrable armor, a laurel wreath, a pair of omnipotent eyes. On Hajime’s favorite strip, a man had thrown himself between a ferocious beast and a fellow soldier, pushing away the woman one could assume to be a friend as he fended off a ferocious attack. Heroic sacrifice or pointless death, Hajime has yet to decide.</p><p>He was broken out of his reverie by a loud clearing of the throat. Sighing resignedly, he turned to face Tooru. "What is it now?" he asked. </p><p>"Rude, Iwa-chan," Tooru said. "You know what you did."</p><p>"What did I do?"</p><p>"I saw you making eyes at the guard," Tooru accused, inspecting his nails with a look of boredom.</p><p>"I didn't."</p><p>“Liar,” Tooru sang.</p><p>“I—” Hajime racked his brain for what Tooru could’ve misinterpreted as <em>making eyes</em> but he couldn’t even recall seeing any guards on the way here, much less have accidentally flirted with one of them, “—did not,” he insisted.</p><p>Tooru exaggerated a sigh. “Is loyalty and honesty too much to ask for these days?”</p><p>"You're a piece of shit, you know that?"</p><p>There was a gasp. Betrayal colored Tooru’s face. And Hajime knew, <em>knew</em>, he was playing right into Tooru’s hands — Tooru who wasn’t even trying to hide the mischief sparkling in his eyes, who was about to burst into a fit of giggles. But he also knew, more than that or anything else, the following truth, "You're the prettiest man I've ever met." And because, for all his training and body conditioning, he was truly the weakest man ever when Tooru was concerned, he had to add in a rushed breath, "Why would I look at anyone else when you're right here in front of me?" </p><p>Hajime shifted to close the step between them when a jostling from behind tilted him off-balance. He latched onto Tooru’s shoulders reflexively to catch his footing, realizing belatedly once he was on stable ground that they were pressed a little too tightly together. He swallowed, lingered for a second too long. </p><p>“For you,” his lips grazed the shell of Tooru’s ear. Down his neck, goosebumps rolled like waves into the folds of his tunic, “even hallowed men are made equal.” </p><p>On the gleaming steps of the Parthenon, the midday sun tempered by an early autumn chill, Tooru shoved him off the face of the Earth and Hajime felt like he’d won something monumental.</p><p>Breathy and carefree, he laughed as he clambered back up to assume his rightful place next to his newly-minted general and laughed as the tips of Tooru’s ears burnt bright from something more than just the sun and laughed when Tooru, ducking so half his face was shielded behind his bangs, finally allowed himself a pleased smile. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>It was the cabin that Hajime and Tooru inhabited whenever they could no longer ignore Eros’ poison-tipped arrows: upon the other's return after large campaigns, on festive nights, whenever they could slip away in secrecy. This walk too Hajime has etched into the forefront of his mind, though not by virtue of excessive repetition. Instead, they had replaced the sanctity of the hidden springs and rock formations of his childhood, and in the same way — as with all things precious, he supposed — they were never guaranteed a next time.</p><p>Sprawled on the skeletal chaise underneath him, Tooru muttered something.</p><p>Lips in the shape of a butterfly kiss hovered above an eyelid. Hajime asked him to repeat himself.</p><p>“You're so embarrassing,” Tooru said, eyes closed. Like this he appeared at peace, more so than Hajime had seen since they left school.</p><p>“You're embarrassing,” he countered without thinking. Then, "Wait, why?"</p><p>Tooru cracked an eye open. At Hajime’s silence, he recited flatly, “For you, even—”</p><p>Hajime rolled his eyes. “And who taught me the line to begin with?” he asked. He studied Tooru fondly, marveling at the shadows that followed the slow drag of his fingers down a sculpted cheek, the expanse of a chiseled chest so readily awaiting his exploration. Hajime could worship him for the rest of his life. </p><p>“Line?” Tooru sat up on the chaise. Hajime, who had scooted down his lap to make room, was yanked back in. “Do you know how the rest of the poem goes?”</p><p>“The <em>rest</em> of the <em>poem</em>?” Hajime repeated. They laughed to a silent metronome. In drunken moonlit beds, in summer’s olive groves, here, they were masters of time. Hajime wasted minutes staring into Tooru’s eyes, collecting fondness meant only for him in their unending depths. “Tell me,” he urged.</p><p>So Tooru did, and Hajime listened as he started describing a man, valiantly ignoring Hajime's fingers creeping up his side. With a lazy pull, the belt circling his hips unraveled and fell limply. The fabric of his loose <em>chiton</em> puffed out, then settled. The man was beautiful, godly, desirable and desired. Strong thighs flexed in anticipation under Hajime’s broad hands. He held Tooru’s stare. A mortal likened to Apollo himself. They had their rules, a society to return to, but in these hidden spaces <em>eromenos</em> was just a word, and they exploited familiar loopholes. </p><p>Like Hajime’s fingers around Tooru’s hardness, drawing out exquisite sounds. Lip biting, barely open eyes. <em>For you, even hallowed men are made equal</em>. Bringing their lengths together, Hajime closed whatever space remained between them and started stroking with renewed vigor. Like this, they were absolved of their ancient aching, however fleeting. Givers of pleasure, receivers of pleasure. They could be both.</p><p>“Hajime,” Tooru moaned, low and breathy. And again. “Hajime.” The last verse hung unspoken between them, forgotten. </p><p>“Are you close?” he asked. </p><p>“Yeah… Just a little more…” he said, so Hajime gave him everything. “Hah— Hajime,” he begged. “Come with me.”</p><p>Hajime grunted, and though he was kneeling on the bed, straddling Tooru, it felt like every major and minor muscle in his legs was on the verge of snapping. His forehead pressed against Tooru’s, covered in a light sheen of sweat. A strangled noise escaped him.</p><p>“I’m—” he started, first against Tooru’s lips, then into his mouth. “Ah—!" </p><p>Tooru writhed, moans raising in pitch and fervor. “Hajime,” he chanted. “Hajime, Hajime, my Hajime,” unceasing even when Hajime has wrung him dry. </p><p>“Shh,” Hajime cooed, releasing his grip to hold floppy locks and swollen lips and crescent-marked palms: Tooru in his entirety. “I’m here,” he assured, staying a while. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>The warm night finds the three of them lounging on cool earthen floors, pillows spread haphazardly around them. Issei and Takahiro, as it turns out, could not shirk their responsibilities for as long as they had led Hajime to believe and would be making their way back the next day. Still, Hajime appreciates that they have accompanied him at least part of the way through. </p><p>It doesn’t surprise Hajime then, when the question arrives with the conclusion of their journey. He’s been expecting it for a while, known for all three days and nights that one of them would have to address the elephant in the room eventually.</p><p>"How's your arm?" Issei asks as Takahiro, the least tolerant of nonsense amongst them when it counts, ventures bravely, "What really happened to Oikawa?"</p><p>With five words, the mood in the room shifts entirely, unsettling into tension like the pause before an exhalation. Issei blinks curiously at Hajime, and Hajime, knowing before he says anything at all that there’s nothing to say, sighs. “You know what happened,” he says, eyes fixed on the ceiling. </p><p>A low breeze tiptoes into the room, stirs the flame of their lamps. Hajime has a split-second to worry it may extinguish before it flickers then holds, steady. Issei averts his gaze. Takahiro shrugs. </p><p>“Well, I mean what I said. Take your time.” Takahiro sits up and rubs a lazy hand across the back of his neck. His smile is the brightest thing in the room. “But I hope you’ll tell us someday.”</p><p>Hajime tries to reciprocate, but the muscles of his mouth don’t quite make it there. “Maybe when I return,” he offers.</p><p>“Sure,” Takahiro agrees.</p><p>From the other side of the room, Issei clears his throat to draw their attention. “Tell us about the two of you too,” he says. “Someday.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Takahiro says. “He’s probably going insane wherever he is, knowing that you don't spend every second of your day talking about him.” </p><p>There was a time when their secret relationship, if they can call it that, actually lived up to its name. Hajime supposes it still does to the general public, but around the two people they’ve spent almost as much of their lives with, keeping up an act had become pointless somewhere along the way. Takahiro and Issei see right through them — knows, the moment Tooru shared his poem in that one symposium, that it was Hajime’s kiss he was describing, and Hajime’s lips that had tasted sweeter than the finest wine, than overwhelming victory.</p><p>Hajime rolls his eyes and accepts their olive branch. “Fine,” he says, definitively this time. “When I return.”</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Because temples are built to the gods’ tastes and there isn’t a crowd more notoriously difficult than these divine beings, Hajime isn’t surprised to find himself slogging up a great mountain the next day. Each step up the narrow and jagged stairs carved out of the cliff itself has him nursing a growing contempt for the goddess he has come to visit. He knows she has no control over the location of her first temple beyond how this place must've meant something to her as a mortal, but that alone riles Hajime up plenty.</p><p>Just her and all the gods in his life. </p><p>After what feels like hours of an excruciating hike, Hajime comes upon a landing overlooking a glorious panorama of the city. The structures in the distance catch the wispy gold of Helios’ descending chariot. Although humble, an altar next to a weathered sign suggests strongly that Hajime has arrived at the right place. Psyche's manifestation immediately after he's taken in the view, so sudden Hajime almost trips over himself taking a few steps back, clears any remaining doubts.</p><p>“Iwaizumi Hajime, son of Iwaizumi Touma and Iwaizumi Fumiko,” she observes. “What took you so long?” </p><p>Hajime cocks an eyebrow. “You’re expecting me?” </p><p>She laughs sweetly, and Hajime follows the delighted curve of her rosy lips, the tumble of her brown curls. Atop her hair rests a messy laurel that accentuates the symmetry of her features. Suddenly the stories make sense, and the paintings and poems no longer seem like an exaggeration. His heart sighs, long-suffering. Psyche is beautiful in the way traces of another god’s smile linger in hers, in the way her hair is a shade away from his.</p><p>“He never shuts up about you,” she says. "It's always <em>Hajime</em> this and <em>Iwa-chan</em> that."</p><p>"What did he tell you?" Hajime asks, a sensation of flight in his chest. "About me?"</p><p>“What do you think, Iwaizumi Hajime?” She makes a show of swirling around in the air, a knowing look in her eyes when she sees Hajime staring at the laurel again. “He told me you’d like that.” Her voice takes on a comically lower pitch, “Of course Iwa-chan will think you’re pretty, Psyche-chan—” a laugh forces itself out of Hajime “—but he won’t give you the time of day because he loves me." She points at the wreath of leaves. “This’ll get his attention though. He can always tell when I made it.” </p><p>Hajime scowls, forgetting for a moment whose presence he’s in. Psyche doesn’t seem to mind as she sits down gracefully on the corner of her altar. “He also said to tell you, ‘Rude, Iwa-chan,’ if you don't ask about him.” Hajime thinks that's an answer in and of itself, and smiles. “Why does he call you that?” she asks.</p><p>“A childhood nickname,” Hajime explains. “He thinks it’s cute.”</p><p>“It kind of is.”</p><p>Hajime allows that, and swallows before asking his question. “So you'll help me?” </p><p>“Depends. I might if you tell a touching enough story,” she says. “It won't be easy though. I’m married to the god of love, you know.” </p><p>“I know,” Hajime replies, chuckling a little. “I’ve read a lot about you.”</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>It must’ve been past midnight when Hajime was woken up by the urge to relieve himself, stumbling out of his tent as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t wake the brigadier he was sharing it with. The stars he saw on the way to a suitable bush confirmed it was deep into the night, which might explain why it wasn’t until he concluded his business that he noticed the lone figure perched on the edge of their encampment.</p><p>Even though the council had unanimously agreed the spot by the crag was ideal for the general to spend the night, it had first and foremost been Hajime’s suggestion. He’d thought, with how steep and rugged it was, that it’d be humanely impossible to scale. Of course he couldn't have predicted the immortality of their assailants that night, but that didn't stop him from blaming himself. How could he not, when he had failed Tooru’s trust?</p><p>The flaps billowing out behind Tooru lent an aristocratic flair to the scene. His upturned face glowed with moonlight, and under that lunar sheen, the tumultuous undercurrent of his unease roared on. As naturally as breathing, Hajime approached him. </p><p>“Go to sleep,” he grumbled, trying to distract himself from the impossible ethereality of his best friend.</p><p>“Iwa-chan,” came Tooru’s response. The nickname slipped out when they’re alone, in times of tenderness as well as vulnerability. Hajime didn’t like when Tooru felt small; didn't think he should ever need to. “What happens if—”</p><p>“Your mother will protect us,” he said firmly, refusing the construction of the sentence. </p><p>A bitter laugh resounded from Tooru. “My mother has never done <em>anything</em> for us, Hajime.”</p><p>Even though they had prayed for her blessings a few days ago, Hajime would be lying to say he didn't harbor his own doubts. The promise she had made Tooru has plagued the both of them ever since Tooru had told him about it.</p><p>Still, Hajime fixed him with a look and dropped down next to him, legs dangling over the chasm. He felt acutely the skin of Tooru’s arm against his own. “Don’t anger the gods like that,” he said at last, a whisper easily knocked down by the wind.</p><p>Something in Tooru seemed to soften. The tips of their shoulders brushed against each other as Tooru shifted to turn fully toward Hajime. “You—” </p><p>A rustling to the right somewhere in the abyss below them silenced him back into alertness. He held up a finger to request the same from Hajime, who was already trying to make out the silhouettes within the shadows. </p><p>Tooru jerked his head in the direction of their nearest bell tower. Even then, Hajime knew that with his godly eyes, Tooru has probably made out their enemy’s identity. He should’ve thought harder about why Tooru had chosen to stay behind, a shake of his head to deny Hajime’s outstretched hand. Instead, Hajime allowed the blind trust he has for Tooru to direct his actions — his biggest strength and weakness.</p><p>With a look of understanding, he retracted his hand and nodded at the same tower. “Find me,” he mouthed, and took off in practiced silence. </p><p>Hajime had expected the attackers to split into multiple groups, but he had failed to consider that without the challenge of the precipitous climb, the other group would've traveled and reached their destination faster. </p><p>The first arrow came at him from out of nowhere. Then the screams started. Unholy cries filtered out sporadically through dark tents while half-dressed soldiers scampered about, dodging weapons and projectiles. Hajime took cover behind a sturdy tree and bent over to pick up a bloodied sword, discarded next to its dead owner. He spared a prayer for the man before rushing out into battle with bated breath. </p><p>Something was off. If they were instigating an attack under the cover of the night, they shouldn't be trying to throw the camp into chaos and draw attention to themselves. For now, all Hajime could do was hurry to the rendezvous point he and Tooru had agreed upon, careful not to slash at every living thing throwing themselves at him. Amidst the panicked confusion, it was hard to distinguish friend from foe, something Hajime was sure the enemy must’ve planned for. </p><p>“Tendou!” he cried, hoping to regroup with the other brigadier. “Tendou!” he tried again to no avail. He was about to call out for a third time when another arrow flew past him, so narrowly avoided Hajime could still feel the slight recoil from the wood against his hair. He twisted around and parried a surprise blow with a hand on the handle of his sword and another on the flat length of its blade, barely reacting out of instinct. The decoy and sneak attack would’ve done him in if not for the attacker's overwhelming presence.</p><p>“Who are you?” Hajime demanded, putting some distance back between them. </p><p>The man — Hajime wasn’t quite sure — smiled and remained silent. There was something supernatural in the fluidity of his movements: in the way he flitted about and forced Hajime to make another hasty leap backward only to discover that he had somehow teleported behind him.</p><p>Hajime scoffed. “What?" he demanded, feigning bravery even as his heart hammered against his chest. "I'm not worthy of your name?” He turned on his heels to block what he thought was another incoming hit, but sleight of hand or convincing feint, his opponent withdrew his weapon at the last second and left him, having banked on an opposing force to halt his inertia, scrambling for purchase as he fell face first.</p><p>Hajime was quick to react, rolling over to his back so he wouldn’t be blindsided. Unfortunately, his opponent was quicker, waiting with a blade pointed to his throat. Just as Hajime tightened his hold on the sword, preparing to strike back, a brutal stomp on his wrist and a kick had the weapon hurled into the battlefield. </p><p>A ways ahead, Hajime noticed a flurry of movements. Hope started to fill him even as the being above him grinned, calculating and fox-like. Hajime scrabbled for a stray spear or sword or rock as the sword was lifted high above him. If he could just reach something, anything, he might be able to get himself out of this, but his desperate attempts didn't go unnoticed by the enemy. With a dagger he seemed to have conjured out of nowhere, he stabbed clean through Hajime’s right arm, pinning it in place, and brought a wrathful knee down against his sternum. Hajime howled. The man was strong, stronger than himself, and the pressure on his chest was making it hard for him to breathe.</p><p>When Hajime refocused his gaze, it was the menacing flash of a sword bearing down on him that he saw. Tooru was still in the middle of his own fight. He wouldn't make it in time. Hajime's mind fought against the pain for a way out of his predicament even as he locked eyes with the greatest love of his life. Just in case, he hoped to tell him with one look what he could never say in words. </p><p>He smiled, putting up a brave front, and an agonizing cry resounded through the air.</p><p>“Stop this at once!” the voice bellowed. “Take anything you want from me. Just please, spare him.” </p><p>Though Hajime knew it was Tooru, had seen with his own eyes and heard with his own ears that it was Tooru, it was so inhumane that Hajime has a hard time believing it had come from the same boy he's known since childhood. He supposed Tooru was never the boy they had both thought him to be, anyway.</p><p>An unnaturally strong gale rushed over Hajime, flinging off his harbinger of death. Grimacing, the rows of his teeth grinding against each other, Hajime yanked the dagger out of his arm, scrambling to his feet as he clutched the gaping wound. A solemn understanding of what had just transpired settled in him as he took in the divine figure standing next to Tooru. Hajime has never considered what a goddess would look like in their mortal form, and after today, he never wanted to.</p><p>“Dumbass,” he shouted, breaking into a run. “Why did you do that? <em>How</em> could you do that to yourself? You said—”</p><p>“Iwa-chan,” Tooru cut him off, careful not to rock his arm as he pulled Hajime into a warm embrace. Would this be their last one? Hajime thought with increasing vertigo. What if this was their last one?</p><p>“What was I supposed to do, sit back and watch you die? You know they’re only here for me.”</p><p>Around them the world was ablaze. Animated cries echoed through the night. Darkness threatened to usurp their ranks. </p><p>Hajime was spinning. </p><p>Before him was a boy. He looked like summer, felt like the protective shade of a wild olive grove. He sounded like whispering under thin sheets on drunken nights, inhibitions chipping away to fingers on forbidden skin. Right now he’s smiling, those slender fingers back on Hajime’s face. Jaded eyes search him, then settle on determination. </p><p>“Listen carefully, Hajime. I don’t have much time.” Hajime was aware; Athena a painful reminder by his side. “You'll obviously succeed me as general so try not to ruin my reputation and win us the war." He paused, eyes downcast as if uncertain of what he's about to say. "Thank your family for taking me in, and," he met Hajime's stare fiercely, "thank you for all these years. I wouldn't have spent my mortal life any other way." Nails dug into Hajime before they fell away with finality. "I'll always be watching over you."</p><p>Hajime realized it was his tears tracking down his cheeks as he pulled Tooru back. “Will I see you again?” </p><p>“Of course, Iwa-chan.”</p><p>“Will you be okay?”</p><p>“What do I always tell you?" Tooru smiled, beatific. "I’m invincible as long as—”</p><p>Fiery landscape replaced the man who had just been standing before him. Hajime blinked. </p><p>Without any fanfare, without any warning, Tooru and the rest of his party were gone.</p><p>The rest of the night fell apart in muted fragments. He must’ve ran into Tendou at some point — he recalled slumping against a wooden pillar as someone tended to his arm, the other brigadier hovering over them. A layer of blood caked his body, and he was too far gone to figure out if it was his or someone else's. A different sword laid glinting next to him. “What happened?” Tendou asked, the darkness shrouding his already hard to read expressions into complete secrecy. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Hajime managed, the pounding behind his eyes loud and vicious. “They got Oikawa."</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Hajime thumbs a gossamer scar listlessly. He fancies hearing crashing waves; imagines being back home with Tooru waiting for him in the cabin. Instead, it is the whistling of the wind that accompanies today’s overture, and Psyche that he sees rising from her altar. She makes her way over to where he's seated on the grass and crowns him with Tooru’s laurel. Tentative fingers settle on the badly woven headpiece. </p><p>“What's he been up to?” Hajime asks quietly.</p><p>Psyche shrugs. "Eros has taken a real liking to him so they've been spending a lot of time together doing whatever it is they do. Most days he’s laughing, but then again, he doesn’t seem like the type to let his guard down in front of just anyone.” She looks Hajime up and down. “If I were to guess, he probably feels as lost as you do.” </p><p>Relief shouldn’t accompany the sadness Hajime feels, but he’s always been a selfish man. “Tell me how to see him again,” he begs. </p><p>Psyche sighs. “I suppose I can't just ignore your plight, being married to <em>the</em> god of love and all." She smiles innocently. "Though I must say, between the two of you, Tooru’s definitely the more accomplished storyteller.” </p><p>Hajimes hates the gods. Really, he does.</p><p>She clasps both hands behind her as she peers down at Hajime. Though it’s her doll-like features that first catches his eye, it’s the unsettling feeling of having someone see through him, at the primordial formations of his soul, that stays with him. “What do you need,” she asks, “for a deified mortal to manifest in this realm?” </p><p>“A temple,” Hajime replies matter-of-factly. </p><p>“And how do you build a temple?” </p><p>That yanks a bitter laugh out of Hajime, earning him a confused tilt of the head from Psyche. “A sacred site, and a location and sacrifice worthy of the god,” he recites dutifully. The irony is not lost on him. </p><p>Psyche makes a sound of agreement, fluttering away from him to stand by the rim of her designated holy ground. </p><p>“How did your mother sanctify her chosen site?” Hajime asks, nodding at the thicket of olives in the distance. </p><p>“I can help you with that,” Psyche says. “Of course, it requires a—”</p><p>“—a sacrifice,” Hajime finishes for her. “Right.” He extends his arms to the wind, the world, to Olympus above them. “What do you need?” he offers.</p><p>“I need only one thing,” she riddles. “For my mother it was a memory, but really, it could be anything, even a material object.” </p><p>Hajime fingers the laurel mindlessly, takes it off his head and places it on his lap. He visualizes Tooru picking each leaf with care yet fumbling in piecing them together. He smiles. “And this thing,” he begins, "if it turns out to be a memory, can I ever recover it?”</p><p>“Theoretically, yes, though my mother never did,” Psyche answers. “Everyone else's memories will also be altered accordingly.”</p><p>Hajime whistles. “Man,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, okay.” He springs to his feet and joins her in overlooking the greenery. "It’s not like I have a choice."</p><p>“Of course you do.”</p><p>“Not really,” Hajime replies, fond. “No.”</p><p>Psyche takes a step, then another, and suddenly Hajime is back on the ground, lying down with her round face positioned directly above his. “Say,” she goes, “what will you sacrifice for the temple?” </p><p>Hajime hears a cheeky little noise and faintly registers it as his own laughter. “A sacrifice worthy of Tooru?” he says. “Not a lot of things I can choose from there.”</p><p>Persephone smiles like she’s in on a secret Hajime doesn’t know. “Oh?”</p><p>“Time,” Hajime says, more certain than he's been of anything. All the years he has to make up for keeping him a step away. The violent cries of their yearning, repressed for far too long. It couldn’t be any other thing. “What else can I offer but the rest of my time?” </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>In the height of summer, the last day of Hajime's student life came and went. It was a good day, shorter than the rest, and just like he's done for most of his life, he had waved when Takahiro and Issei split off from Oikawa and him at the fork and he had continued in wordless agreement with Oikawa to their shared cabin. Tomorrow, all four of them would start mandatory military training. Today, he had time to spare by the glittering water with his glittering friend.</p><p>To appease a whining Oikawa, they had stopped for lunch on their way there. With his low back against a splintered log, Hajime spread his legs and happily munched on the bread they’d purchased at the market earlier. Across from him, Oikawa sat cross-legged against a slender olive tree. His smaller cut of bread was graced with the luxury of a thin layer of cheese. Hajime had offered to pool their money together for a more sizeable portion but Oikawa had refused adamantly. "Your lost," Hajime had told him with a shrug.</p><p>They lingered under the canopy after finishing their food. Hajime was dozing off, eyelids drooping, when he felt a nudge against his foot. Slowly, he rubbed both eyes and blinked them open to shoot Oikawa a questioning look.</p><p>"Let's go before you fall asleep."</p><p>Hajime grunted but got up obediently, groggy mind lagging behind whatever Oikawa was saying given that he was barely awake enough to put one foot in front of the other.</p><p>Then Oikawa stepped into an opening in the foliage, and in one clean swoop, his life was separated into Before and After. </p><p>Wildflower honey encompassed his best friend, who suddenly felt very detached from Hajime's idea of who his best friend should be. Here stood an exalted being who would go on to become a general of the state and whatever else he wanted to be; who would lead them into countless victories and continue to have Hajime wrapped around his fingers, no matter how hard he tried to resist his pull. He squashed down the myriad of fantasies he's had of Oikawa, knowing even if he possessed the courage to act on any of them that Oikawa wasn't someone to ever belong to a singular other. </p><p>"Wow," came tumbling unthinkingly out of his mouth. Oikawa halted in his tracks, turned slowly to face Hajime who was already twisted toward him, seemingly unaware of what he’d just let slip. “Hajime?” Oikawa implored, even though there was no mistaking what he meant from how he was staring.</p><p>“Your eyes,” he said, a poor attempt at a cover-up. “Under the sun— I mean, they’re always,” his right hand twitched forward before falling back down, showing impressive restraint. Hajime tried again. “They’re really something,” he breathed, chuckling through the twinge of embarrassment that was finally catching up to him. It was too late to take anything back. All he could do was push on ahead. “Reminds me of the painting in Athena’s temple. You know the one." He dragged his gaze up to meet Oikawa's, forced it to stay as if he had woken up today fully expecting this exchange. "Maybe you have been blessed by the gods."</p><p>Looking back, it was clear that Tooru hadn’t planned on telling him anything. As usual, he was stubborn in his refusal to ask for help, adamant that he shouldered all his burdens alone. In the moment, Hajime had been waiting for Oikawa's teasing quip, for him to laugh it off as he did everything else.</p><p>None of it ever came. Instead, what he said was, “Tooru.” To Hajime’s questioning look, he repeated, “My real name is Tooru.” </p><p>Before Hajime understood what he was saying, he understood the gravity of this information. Thus it was with a sense of foreboding that Hajime asked, “What are you trying to tell me?”</p><p>And Tooru answered, a face to his premonition, “Athena's my mother. I'm a demigod.”</p><p>He delved into the rest of it with the sun pouring over them, Hajime having joined him in the well-lit space. Not too long ago, on the night of a new moon, his mother had descended upon their courtyard. The news she brought with her would be cause for celebration had her son been anyone else, but Tooru didn’t care for apotheosis, didn’t want a life other than the one he had. Athena had called him foolish — Hajime thought Tooru must’ve gotten his mulishness from somewhere — and presented a caveat which turned out to be the real issue: generalship in the next ten years, or her offer was null. Commanding the military was Tooru’s lifelong dream. He had promised to do it together with Hajime.</p><p>This time it was Hajime’s who remained rooted to the spot. “But,” he started, not knowing how to finish. </p><p>“I won't let her," Tooru murmured, finishing for him. "It's not like she can just take me away."</p><p>"You sure?" Hajime said for lack of a better response. </p><p>“Hajime,” Tooru said. Against the back of Hajime’s hand a quivering finger painted a gentle stroke. Down the curve of his ear a foreign exhalation coursed along. Hajime shivered, then looked at him. “Iwa-chan.” A loose, two-fingered cuff circled his wrist: asking for permission, giving permission. </p><p>“Dumbass,” Hajime said, knocking their foreheads together. Already there was an unwanted shimmer in Tooru's eyes. “What were you trying to act cool for? You can’t fool me.” He paused, considering. “Tooru.”</p><p>“Iwa-chan,” Tooru repeated, the name coming out wet. Hajime wiggled out of Tooru’s grip then chased after his hand, interlacing their fingers together. A thrill shot through his arm, down the length of his entire right side. "What?” he groused.</p><p>“I’m scared.”</p><p>“Why?” Hajime demanded. “You won't get rid of me that easily.” </p><p>Not for the first time, Hajime’s gaze fell off Tooru’s eyes and onto the rosier shade of his lips. All his life he'd denied himself this wonder: told himself the fancy would pass, placated himself with vague promises of a next time. What did either of them have to lose now? He knew as well as Tooru that his departure was a matter of time. They were powerless before a goddess. Yearning never meant the right to hold. Knowing he was about to be the world's biggest hypocrite for having hidden all these years while Tooru waited patiently for him to be ready, so patient in his silence and forlorn smiles, Hajime leaned forward and laid claim to his lips. </p><p>In the height of summer, with the stiff breeze and dry heat as their only witness, the first day of the rest of Hajime's life has begun. He could've sworn their shuddering rocked the very earth.</p><p>Later, he’d receive a hastily put together laurel from a blushing Tooru and mourn all the time they’ve wasted dancing around each other. “I've waited so long only to find out Iwa-chan's a bad kisser,” Tooru would say from the bed where he was reading. “But, it's okay. We can work on that." Because Hajime was too busy blushing up a storm to comment, Tooru was able to continue unchecked, "Being half-mortal’s worth something I guess.” </p><p>On a stool next to the bed, Hajime kicked him. If Tooru let him, it was only because he was about to further embarrass Hajime. “For you,” he said, and Hajime groaned in anticipation of what was coming, “even hallowed men are made equal.” </p><p>“I hate you,” Hajime said, unable to decide if understanding why Tooru's been stuck on this poem, this one line, for the longest time was cause for joy or despair. </p><p>Tooru beamed. “As long as you… hate me back,” he said, smiling slyly, “then nothing else matters.” Giddily he added, “I’m invincible.” </p><p>Hajime aimed for his shin this time. “How does it feel,” Tooru asked, laughing now, “knowing your feelings give me power?” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Hajime said, smiling despite himself. “Tooru, god of Iwaizumi Hajime’s feelings." He scrunched up his nose in jest. "I gotta say, that has a real shitty ring to it.”</p><p>In his outstretched palms, Tooru caught his hand, his gaze, his heart. “Does it?” he wondered, voice like the plucking of a lyre and, gods, how could Hajime ever live without him? “I think it sounds perfect."</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>“Hajime!”</p><p>For days he has ventured with haste for his little cabin by the cliffside. The details of his journey which should be fresh to him are strangely muddled, and the last thing he remembers before the great blur is Psyche asking him a bunch of questions. She had been there when he stirred to consciousness at the foot of her mountain, smiling down at his state of confusion. </p><p>“Good morning,” she had said, and with her luscious curls and smart eyes it might've been love at first sight if not for his immediate recoil at the thought of betraying… whom? Hajime doesn’t know, but there’s an obnoxious voice in his head he couldn’t quite place that’s already nagging at him, and he hasn’t even given her any attention. </p><p>He spends the entire return home trying to figure out what’s stopping him from falling for a perfectly fine woman — a literal goddess — but even three days hasn't been enough time. And now there’s a teary-eyed Oikawa shooting to his feet on the doorstep of his cabin; Oikawa who’s supposed to have ascended with his mother to Olympus a few years ago during the war. That’s not something Hajime would forget, even if his memory may be slightly out of sorts right now. Why in the world is he back here in tears?</p><p>“Hey, you,” Hajime greets in turn, arms spread wide as the god charges straight at him. They collide with a thud that sends Hajime crashing into the ground. Oikawa burrows into Hajime's chest, uncaring, leaving Hajime to fight off a concerning urge to card his fingers through Oikawa’s hair. He frowns. That would be inappropriate with another man his age, let alone a god.</p><p>When Oikawa doesn’t stop crying, Hajime gives up withholding fingers from his hair. A grin stretches across his own face as Oikawa leans into his touch. Spring again. “Thought you’d have grown out of being a baby,” he teases. </p><p>“Shut up,” Oikawa mumbles, his words eaten up by the fabric of Hajime’s tunic. He buries himself even deeper into an overdue embrace as if there exists a threshold which once surpassed would meld them into one. Hajime notes the elation he feels at the possibility and marks it for future inspection. “Stupid Iwa-chan, what do you remember?”</p><p>“Dumbass Oikawa,” he replies with an ease that surprises himself, “why would I forget anything?”</p><p>Oikawa jumps out of his hold, pure shock splattered on his face. “What did you just call me?” he demands.</p><p>“Oikawa?” he answers slowly to a drawn-out groan from the man himself. “I knew it!” Oikawa cries, burying his head in his hands. “What did you sacrifice?”</p><p>Not knowing what else to do, Hajime’s arms return faithfully to wrap around him as the last thing he tells Psyche surfaces to mind. “Time," he says. Oikawa pushes him off slightly to stare in puzzlement. “I don’t know, okay?” Hajime mumbles, a familiar heat creeping up his face. “I guess I promised to give you the rest of my time? I know it’s not good enough for you, but you should’ve just told Psyche you didn’t want it before—” Realizing the important fact that it is the sacrifice which determines a temple's spiritual potential and, in turn, the god’s strength upon materialization, Hajime tries, warily, “Is that why you’re upset?” </p><p>Still straddling him, Oikawa groans again into his palms and tilts forward to knock his forehead against Hajime. Oikawa feels strangely warm too, Hajime thinks. Must be something in the air.</p><p>A contemplative silence passes before he manages, in a feeble voice, “Do you still like me?”</p><p>Hajime blinks. "Excuse me?” he asks incredulously.</p><p>“Do you still like me,” Oikawa repeats.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I?” Hajime is indignant. “You're my best friend.” </p><p>Oikawa detaches himself completely from Hajime and rolls over dramatically on his back. “When did you find out I’m only half mortal?” </p><p>“You told us the night we met,” Hajime says, confused. He settles down next to him, a step away, eyes following the movement of the clouds. “Oikawa, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“Last question,” Oikawa says instead of answering. “Do you remember the—” he gestures in the general direction of the cabin and Hajime watches in amusement as the color in his cheeks flare. “The?” Hajime encourages, barking out a laugh as Oikawa turns to glare at him. There are no words for him to ever fully capture this feeling: spending the last minutes of sunlight teasing his favorite god, the same one he’s missed so dearly. If he has to try, Hajime supposes it feels like the warm breeze of childhood gently caressing his cheek. Like everything will be okay. “Yes, Oikawa, I remember the kissing and the…” Hajime demonstrates the next part with a lewd gesture, eyes crinkling. Oikawa smacks the laughter out of him.</p><p>“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” </p><p>“You said that was the last question.” </p><p>Oikawa looks like he’s ready to send Hajime to the Underworld himself. Hajime wonders briefly if there’s a joke to be made about how he’d always known Oikawa’s first act of wrath would be meant for him. “Humor me, Hajime,” Oikawa says. </p><p>“It was sometime after we started military training, I think,” Hajime replies easily. "Why?"</p><p>There is no question that Oikawa is blushing furiously now, though Hajime doesn’t quite understand why and, of course, Oikawa doesn’t bother explaining. “Ughhhhhh,” he offers instead.</p><p>“What?” Hajime has to ask. "We were just experimenting. As young adults do."</p><p>“Did you learn nothing from school?” Oikawa snaps.</p><p>Hajime has learned approximately two things from school. “No,” he says truthfully. </p><p>Oikawa shifts to his side, supporting his weight on a forearm, and continues glaring. “Psyche-chan required a sacrifice to sanctify the groves.” Hajime nods to show that he's following. “A sacrifice can’t be worth less than what you’re receiving in return,” Oikawa says, as if that’s supposed to mean anything to Hajime, who barely even remembers his conversation with Psyche. “She gave you sacred ground,” Oikawa adds when it became apparent that it has yet to click for Hajime.</p><p>“Oh, so you're saying I gave up something valuable, like a gift from the gods?" He frowns. "I don’t think I have anything like that though,” Hajime refutes, almost missing Oikawa’s whisper of a reply.</p><p>“No," he agrees, "I'm saying you gave up something sacred." Oikawa meets his gaze purposefully. "To us."</p><p>Hajime doesn't get to decipher what he's saying before Oikawa, pointing to the wrapped disc he's been carrying, asks, “What’s that?” </p><p>Hajime hands it to Oikawa, having almost forgotten the purchase himself. “It’s for you.” Oikawa unravels the binding suspiciously only to see the most innocuous looking block of cheese inside. “I was going to use it as an offering. The guy who sold it to me claims it's sharper than what we're used to here,” Hajime explains, scratching the back of his head. “Thought you might like it.”</p><p>Oikawa accepts the gift, sits back to contemplate it.</p><p>"What?" Hajime asks.</p><p>"Nothing," is all he gets as Oikawa breaks off a bit of the cheese and pops it into his mouth. Like a madman, Hajime thinks. Man and god. Mortal and immortal. <em>Eromenos</em> and <em>erastes</em>? He doesn’t know why that rings like a familiar thought. “You know, I can probably find a way to bring back your memories but," he sighs, "wouldn't that defeat the purpose of giving them up?”</p><p>"What purpose?" Hajime grumbles, feeling irritated for some reason.</p><p>Oikawa continues talking over him. “I mean, now that you’ve signed your life away to me, you have all the time in the world to figure it out anyway,” he sings. “Also, this <em>is</em> really good,” he says, pointing at the cheese as he gobbles up another block. </p><p>Hajime groans. “You just like seeing me suffer.”</p><p>“And you deserve every bit of suffering for forgetting,” Oikawa says, swatting Hajime’s grabby hand away from food that is rightfully his. But he smiles when Hajime sulks and hand-feeds him a piece when Hajime deepens his glare, so, really, who's Hajime to complain?</p><p>"Wait," Hajime says with a flourish halfway through his mouthful, stopping his chewing to get to the bottom of this new, extremely important thought. "What are you the god of?" </p><p>When Oikawa scoffs, Hajime's face lights up in pleasure. "Was I right?" he demands, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Are you a war deity? Or something to do with those eyes?" </p><p>Oikawa sticks his tongue out. “Not even close.”</p><p>“What is it then?” He makes another swipe at the cheese and comes out on the other side with a successful haul of one bite. </p><p>“You’ll figure it out when you get your memories back, silly Iwa-chan.”</p><p>“If,” Hajime corrects.</p><p>“When.” </p><p>Hajime decides that isn't his hill to die on. Which is why he's eyeing the cheese, trying to devise a distraction so he could steal more of it, when Oikawa dumps the question, “Hey, Iwa-chan," Hajime glances past his shoulder to look at him, "can I kiss you?”</p><p>A moment of silence passes. Hajime retracts his thieving hand. "What," he deadpans when he has ascertained that Oikawa isn't joking. Oikawa doesn’t answer him — chooses instead to taunt him with a smile — so Hajime tries a different approach. "What do you mean, <em>kiss</em>?"</p><p>"I don't think I can mean anything else, Iwa-chan."</p><p>"Why me?" He looks Oikawa dead serious in the eye. "You can have any other mortal now that you've ascended. You can find someone more," his hesitation weasels its way uncomfortably between them, "fitting."</p><p>Oikawa rolls his eyes so far back Hajime flinches, wondering if that'll inflict any permanent damage. "As if I couldn't before," Oikawa grumbles. "And yet, I still," his face crinkles in an obnoxiously cute way, "experimented with you, didn't I?"</p><p>"I guess," Hajime allows after thinking it over. "But we've experimented. So what's your point in kissing me now?"</p><p>Oikawa sits up. "What's your point in building this temple?" he counters hotly.</p><p>"I—" Hajime frowns. "For all I know, you could've bewitched me into doing it. Having a crowd of worshippers at your feet seems like something you'd want."</p><p>"Ugh, I'd puke if I ever had to listen to some nobody's sob story."</p><p>"Oh?" Hajime leans in, the flames in his eyes lit afresh. "So you're the kind of god people with sob stories would pray to?"</p><p>Oikawa clicks his tongue in annoyance. "Iwa-chan, stop cheating!"</p><p>Hajime throws his head back in laughter, then settles against Oikawa's side comfortably. "I'm not," he insists.</p><p>"Whatever," Oikawa mumbles. "And it's fine if you don't want to." His eyes flick toward Hajime and dart away just as quickly. With a harrumph, he continues, "I understand my good looks can be overwhelming." </p><p>"Uh-huh," Hajime says. He isn't blind. Anyone, but especially Hajime, can see the annoyance etched into frown lines, the slight pout. It's not fine. And it's not like Hajime even minds. Given time to think it through, he'd probably have agreed to the request. He realizes that, and how he finds this childish side of Oikawa oddly charming, should be cause for alarm, but mostly it just brings him peace to admit. It almost feels like he's come to terms with both these things for a while now.</p><p>So he smiles and places a hand on Oikawa's knee. "Hey," he starts.</p><p>"Yes?" he mutters dejectedly. "Can I help you?"</p><p>Hajime snorts. "Yeah, but you won't." Oikawa gasps, but Hajime doesn't let him speak. "I'm not asking you to," he says. "If it's important, I'll remember eventually, right? And it seems pretty important, if how you're acting is any indication." </p><p>Oikawa simmers in silence. </p><p>"Hey," Hajime tries again. </p><p>"Yeah?" Oikawa grumbles petulantly.</p><p>On Oikawa's leg, his hand twitches, makes its way up as if to cup a face, hesitates, then falls back to his side. Hajime nudges Oikawa's shoulder with his own instead. "Welcome home," he says.</p><p>Right then his lips wrap around a familiar shape. A song longing to be heard lodges itself in his throat. Hajime releases it, lets it roam free as the blue sky, the infinite wind. </p><p>In the pocket of air between them, a name never truly forgotten flowers into being. Hajime smiles and watches fondly as his god friend gasps, shifting so much closer Hajime thinks they might actually kiss. They don't, though Hajime sees his hand twitch by his side as well. </p><p>"Iwa-chan," he says as his lower lip starts to wobble. </p><p>"Yeah?" Hajime echoes back. His smile grows. "I'm here."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>to think that this started bc i wanted to write oikawa "hot as a greek god" LMAOO look where that got us instead. regardless, i learned a looot writing this and had lots of fun and also undue stress from the aforementioned historical inaccuracies</p><p>thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed it!! ♡</p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/i/user/1332930692087304192">twitter</a> + <a href="https://twitter.com/mangotempo/status/1372381957670105089">deleted scenes!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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